A Transliteration of Jim’s Dialogue in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
Courtesy of No Fear Literature on SparkNotes.com
Twain’s Original Text
Less Phonetic Transliteration
Chapter 2
“Say, who is you? Whar is you? Dog my cats ef
I didn’ hear sumf’n. Well, I know what I’s gwyne
to do: I’s gwyne to set down here and listen tell I
hears it agin.”
Pretty soon Jim said, “Say now, who’s there?
Where are you? I’ll be damned if I didn’t hear
something. Well, I know what I’m going to do—I’m
going to sit down right here and listen until I hear that
sound again.”
Chapter 4
“Yo’ ole father doan’ know yit what he’s agwyne to do. Sometimes he spec he’ll go ’way, en
den agin he spec he’ll stay. De bes’ way is to res’
easy en let de ole man take his own way. Dey’s
two angels hoverin’ roun’ ’bout him. One uv ’em
is white en shiny, en t’other one is black. De white
one gits him to go right a little while, den de black
one sail in en bust it all up. A body can’t tell yit
which one gwyne to fetch him at de las’. But you
is all right. You gwyne to have considable trouble
in yo’ life, en considable joy. Sometimes you
gwyne to git hurt, en sometimes you gwyne to git
sick; but every time you’s gwyne to git well agin.
Dey’s two gals flyin’ ’bout you in yo’ life. One uv
’em’s light en t’other one is dark. One is rich en
t’other is po’. You’s gwyne to marry de po’ one
fust en de rich one by en by. You wants to keep
’way fum de water as much as you kin, en don’t
run no resk, ’kase it’s down in de bills dat you’s
gwyne to git hung.”
“Your old pap doesn’t know yet what he’s going
to do. Sometimes he thinks he’ll go away, but then
changes his mind and thinks he’ll stay. The best thing
for you to do is to relax and let the old man do what
he wants. There are two angels hovering around him.
One of them is white and shiny and the other is black.
The white one gets him to do the right thing for
awhile, but then the black one pops up and ruins it.
Nobody can tell which one is going to win in the end.
But you’ll be alright. You’re going to have
considerable trouble in your life and considerable
joy. Sometimes you’re going to get hurt and
sometimes you’re going go get sick, but everytime
you do, you’ll get well again. There are two women
in your life: One of them is light, and the other is
dark. One is rich, and the other is poor. You’re going
to marry the poor one first and the rich one later on.
You want to keep away from the water as much as
you can and not take any chances in case it’s
predestined that you’re going to get hanged.”
Chapter 6
“Call this a govment! why, just look at it and
see what it’s like. Here’s the law a-standing ready
to take a man’s son away from him—a man’s own
son, which he has had all the trouble and all the
anxiety and all the expense of raising. Yes, just as
that man has got that son raised at last, and ready
“They call this a government! Just look at it! The
law is going to let them take a man’s son away from
him—his own son, which he went to all the trouble
and worry and expense to raise. Just when that son
finally grows up and is ready to work and do
something for HIM so that he can relax, the law tries
to go to work and begin to do suthin’ for HIM and
give him a rest, the law up and goes for him. And
they call THAT govment! That ain’t all, nuther.
The law backs that old Judge Thatcher up and
helps him to keep me out o’ my property. Here’s
what the law does: The law takes a man worth six
thousand dollars and up’ards, and jams him into an
old trap of a cabin like this, and lets him go round
in clothes that ain’t fitten for a hog. They call that
govment! A man can’t get his rights in a govment
like this. Sometimes I’ve a mighty notion to just
leave the country for good and all. Yes, and I
TOLD ’em so; I told old Thatcher so to his face.
Lots of ’em heard me, and can tell what I said.
Says I, for two cents I’d leave the blamed country
and never come a-near it agin. Them’s the very
words. I says look at my hat—if you call it a hat—
but the lid raises up and the rest of it goes down till
it’s below my chin, and then it ain’t rightly a hat at
all, but more like my head was shoved up through
a jint o’ stove-pipe. Look at it, says I—such a hat
for me to wear—one of the wealthiest men in this
town if I could git my rights.
“Oh, yes, this is a wonderful govment,
wonderful. Why, looky here. There was a free
nigger there from Ohio—a mulatter, most as white
as a white man. He had the whitest shirt on you
ever see, too, and the shiniest hat; and there ain’t a
man in that town that’s got as fine clothes as what
he had; and he had a gold watch and chain, and a
silver-headed cane—the awfulest old gray-headed
nabob in the State. And what do you think? They
said he was a p’fessor in a college, and could talk
all kinds of languages, and knowed everything.
And that ain’t the wust. They said he could VOTE
when he was at home. Well, that let me out.
Thinks I, what is the country a-coming to? It was
’lection day, and I was just about to go and vote
myself if I warn’t too drunk to get there; but when
they told me there was a State in this country
where they’d let that nigger vote, I drawed out. I
says I’ll never vote agin. Them’s the very words I
said; they all heard me; and the country may rot for
all me—I’ll never vote agin as long as I live. And
to see the cool way of that nigger—why, he
wouldn’t a give me the road if I hadn’t shoved him
to take him away. They call that government! That
ain’t nothing. The law is backing that old Judge
Thatcher and helping him keep me away from my
own property. The law stuffs a man worth more than
six thousand dollars into this old trap of a cabin and
lets him wear clothes that ain’t fit for a pig. They call
that government! A man doesn’t have any rights
under a government like this. Sometimes I just feel
like leaving the country once and for all. And I
TOLD them that. I told this right to Judge Thatcher’s
face. Lots of people heard me, and can vouch for
what I said. I said that for two cents I’d leave the
damned country and never go near it again. Those are
the very words I used. I told them to look at my hat,
if you can even call it that: The top raises up and the
rest droops down til it’s below my chin. It’s barely a
hat at all anymore, but more like a piece of stovepipe
that my head has been shoved into. Just look at it, I
told them. What a fine hat for one of the wealthiest
men in town to wear—if I could just get what’s
rightfully mine.
“Oh yes, this government is wonderful, just
wonderful. Just listen to this: There was an elderly
free n----- from Ohio who was the nicest looking
grey-haired man in the state. He was a mulatto who
looked as white as any white man. We wore the
whitest shirt you’ve ever seen and the shiniest hat
too. He had a gold watch and chain and a silverheaded cane. There wasn’t a man in town with
clothes as fine as his. And do you know what they
said about him? They said he was a college professor,
who could speak several different languages and
knew everything. But that isn’t the worst thing. They
said he could VOTE in his home state. Well that sure
pissed me off. What’s this country coming to, I asked
myself. It was election day, and I would have voted
myself, if I hadn’t been too drunk to get to the polls.
But when they told me there was a state in this
country where a n----- could vote, I stopped dead in
my tracks. I said I’d never vote again as long as I
live. Those are the very words I used—everyone
heard it. The country can rot for all I care. And to see
the confident way that n----- acted! He wouldn’t have
even stepped aside had I shoved him out of my way. I
out o’ the way. I says to the people, why ain’t this
nigger put up at auction and sold?—that’s what I
want to know. And what do you reckon they said?
Why, they said he couldn’t be sold till he’d been in
the State six months, and he hadn’t been there that
long yet. There, now—that’s a specimen. They call
that a govment that can’t sell a free nigger till he’s
been in the State six months. Here’s a govment
that calls itself a govment, and lets on to be a
govment, and thinks it is a govment, and yet’s got
to set stock-still for six whole months before it can
take a hold of a prowling, thieving, infernal, whiteshirted free nigger, and—”
Chapter 8
page 41-47
“Hello, Jim!” and skipped out.
He bounced up and stared at me wild. Then he
drops down on his knees, and puts his hands
together and says:
“Doan’ hurt me—don’t! I hain’t ever done no
harm to a ghos’. I alwuz liked dead people, en
done all I could for ’em. You go en git in de river
agin, whah you b’longs, en doan’ do nuffn to Ole
Jim, ’at ’uz awluz yo’ fren’.”
Well, I warn’t long making him understand I
warn’t dead. I was ever so glad to see Jim. I warn’t
lonesome now. I told him I warn’t afraid of HIM
telling the people where I was. I talked along, but
he only set there and looked at me; never said
nothing. Then I says:
“It’s good daylight. Le’s get breakfast. Make up
your camp fire good.”
“What’s de use er makin’ up de camp fire to
cook strawbries en sich truck? But you got a gun,
hain’t you? Den we kin git sumfn better den
strawbries.”
“Strawberries and such truck,” I says. “Is that
what you live on?”
“I couldn’ git nuffn else,” he says.
“Why, how long you been on the island, Jim?”
asked everyone why this n----- wasn’t being put up
for auction and sold into slavery? And do you know
what they said? They said he could only be sold into
slavery after he’d been in the state for six months,
and he hadn’t been here that long yet. Can you
believe it? That’s some kind of government that
won’t even sell a free n----- til he’s been in the state
for six months. Here you’ve got a government that
calls itself a government and thinks it’s a government
and lets on like it’s a government, yet it refuses to act
until six months have passed before it can grab that
sneaky, thieving, blasted white-shirted free n-----—”
“Hello, Jim!” and jumped out from my hiding
place in the bushes.
He jumped up and stared at me wildly. Then he
dropped down to his knees, put his hands together,
and said:
“Don’t hurt me! Don’t! I’ve never harmed a ghost.
I’ve always liked dead people, and done all I could
for them. You go and get in the river where you
belong, and don’t do nothing to Ol’ Jim, who was
always your friend.”
Well, it didn’t take long to mke him see I wasn’t
dead. I was so glad to see him—now I wouldn’t be
lonely. I told him I wasn’t afraid of HIM telling
everyone where I was. I talked quite a while, but he
only sat there looking at me without saying anything.
I said:
“It’s full daylight now. Let’s get breakfast. Why
don’t you get the fire going again?”
“What’s the use making up a campfire to cook
strawberries and the like? You have a gun, don't you?
If you had a gun, we could get something better than
strawberries.”
“Stawberries and stuff,” I repeated. “Is that what
you live on?”
“I couldn’t get anything else,” he said.
“Why, how long have you been on the island,
Jim?”
“I come heah de night arter you’s killed.”
“What, all that time?”
“Yes—indeedy.”
“And ain’t you had nothing but that kind of
rubbage to eat?”
“No, sah—nuffn else.”
“Well, you must be most starved, ain’t you?”
“I came here the night after you were killed.”
“What? You’ve been here all that time?”
“Yes indeed.”
“And you haven’t had anything to eat but that kind
of junk?”
“No sir, nothing else.”
“Well, you must be almost starved then, aren’t
you?”
“I reck’n I could eat a hoss. I think I could.
“I bet I could eat a horse. I really could. How long
How long you ben on de islan’?”
have you been on the island?”
“Since the night I got killed.”
“Since the night I got killed.”
“No! W’y, what has you lived on? But you got
“No! What have you been eating? Oh, but you
a gun. Oh, yes, you got a gun. Dat’s good. Now
have a gun. Yep, you have a gun. That’s good. Now
you kill sumfn en I’ll make up de fire.”
you go and kill something, and I’ll cook it up on the
fire.”
So we went over to where the canoe was, and
So we went over to where the canoe was, and
while he built a fire in a grassy open place amongst while he built a fire in a grassy opening among the
the trees, I fetched meal and bacon and coffee, and trees, I pulled out some cornmeal, bacon, and coffee.
coffee-pot and frying-pan, and sugar and tin cups, I also grabbed the coffee pot, the frying pan, sugar,
and the nigger was set back considerable, because and tin cups. Jim was amazed, since he thought I’d
he reckoned it was all done with witchcraft. I
gotten all that stuff through magic. I caught a nice big
catched a good big catfish, too, and Jim cleaned
catfish, and Jim cleaned it with his knife before
him with his knife, and fried him.
frying it.
When breakfast was ready we lolled on the
When breakfast was ready, we lounged on the
grass and eat it smoking hot. Jim laid it in with all grass and ate it while it was still smoking hot. Since
his might, for he was most about starved. Then
Jim was half-starved, he set to eating with all his
when we had got pretty well stuffed, we laid off
might. Once we were stuffed, he lazed about.
and lazied. By and by Jim says:
Eventually, Jim said:
“But looky here, Huck, who wuz it dat ’uz
“But look here, Huck. If you weren’t killed in the
killed in dat shanty ef it warn’t you?”
shanty, then who was?”
Then I told him the whole thing, and he said it
I told him the whole story, and he said it was
was smart. He said Tom Sawyer couldn’t get up no pretty smart. He said Tom Sawyer couldn’t have
better plan than what I had. Then I says:
come up with a better plan than that. Then I said:
“How do you come to be here, Jim, and how’d
“Why are you here, Jim? And how’d you get
you get here?”
here?”
He looked pretty uneasy, and didn’t say nothing
He looked pretty uncomfortable, and didn’t say
for a minute. Then he says:
anything for a minute. Then he said:
“Maybe I better not tell.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”
“Why, Jim?”
“Why, Jim?”
“Well, dey’s reasons. But you wouldn’ tell on
“Well, I have my reasons. But you wouldn’t tell
me ef I uz to tell you, would you, Huck?”
on me if I were to tell you, would you, Huck?
“Blamed if I would, Jim.”
“I’ll be damned if I would, Jim.”
“Well, I b’lieve you, Huck. I—I RUN OFF.”
“Well, I believe you, Huck. I… I ran away.”
“Jim!”
“Jim!”
“But mind, you said you wouldn’ tell—you
“But remember, you said you wouldn’t tell! You
know you said you wouldn’ tell, Huck.”
“Well, I did. I said I wouldn’t, and I’ll stick to
it. Honest INJUN, I will. People would call me a
low-down Abolitionist and despise me for keeping
mum—but that don’t make no difference. I ain’t agoing to tell, and I ain’t a-going back there,
anyways. So, now, le’s know all about it.”
“Well, you see, it ’uz dis way. Ole missus—
dat’s Miss Watson—she pecks on me all de time,
en treats me pooty rough, but she awluz said she
wouldn’ sell me down to Orleans. But I noticed
dey wuz a nigger trader roun’ de place considable
lately, en I begin to git oneasy. Well, one night I
creeps to de do’ pooty late, en de do’ warn’t quite
shet, en I hear old missus tell de widder she gwyne
to sell me down to Orleans, but she didn’ want to,
but she could git eight hund’d dollars for me, en it
’uz sich a big stack o’ money she couldn’ resis’.
De widder she try to git her to say she wouldn’ do
it, but I never waited to hear de res’. I lit out
mighty quick, I tell you.
“I tuck out en shin down de hill, en ’spec to
steal a skift ’long de sho’ som’ers ’bove de town,
but dey wuz people a-stirring yit, so I hid in de ole
tumble-down cooper-shop on de bank to wait for
everybody to go ’way. Well, I wuz dah all night.
Dey wuz somebody roun’ all de time. ’Long ’bout
six in de mawnin’ skifts begin to go by, en ’bout
eight er nine every skift dat went ’long wuz talkin’
’bout how yo’ pap come over to de town en say
you’s killed. Dese las’ skifts wuz full o’ ladies en
genlmen a-goin’ over for to see de place.
Sometimes dey’d pull up at de sho’ en take a res’
b’fo’ dey started acrost, so by de talk I got to know
all ’bout de killin’. I ’uz powerful sorry you’s
killed, Huck, but I ain’t no mo’ now.
“I laid dah under de shavin’s all day. I ’uz
hungry, but I warn’t afeard; bekase I knowed ole
missus en de widder wuz goin’ to start to de campmeet’n’ right arter breakfas’ en be gone all day, en
dey knows I goes off wid de cattle ’bout daylight,
so dey wouldn’ ’spec to see me roun’ de place, en
so dey wouldn’ miss me tell arter dark in de
evenin’. De yuther servants wouldn’ miss me, kase
dey’d shin out en take holiday soon as de ole folks
’uz out’n de way.
know you said you wouldn’t tell, Huck.”
“That’s right, I did say that. I said I wouldn’t, and
I’ll keep my word. Honest to God, I will. People
would call me a low-down abolitionist and despise
me for not telling, but I don’t care. I’m not going to
tell. Besides, I’m not going back home either. So,
now, tell me all about it.
Well, it happened like this. Old Missus—I mean,
Miss Watson—picks on me all the time and treats me
pretty rough, but she always said she wouldn’t sell
me down to New Orleans. But then I noticed that
there was a n----- trader hanging around the house a
lot, and I began to worry. Well, late one night, I crept
to the door, which wasn’t quite shut, and I heard old
missus tell the widow that she was going to sell me
down to New Orleans. She didn’t want to, but she
said she could get eight hundred dollars for me,
which was too much money that to resist. The widow
tried to talk her out of it, but I didn’t wait around to
hear the rest. I ran away pretty fast, I tell you.
“I booked it down the hill, expecting to steal a
skiff along the shore somewhere above town. But
there were people around, so I hid inn the old
cooper’s shop on the bank and waited for everyone to
leave. Well, since there was always someone around,
I stayed there all night. Skiffs began to go by starting
around about six in the morning, and by about eight
or nine, everyone was buzzing about how your pap
had come to town saying you’d been killed. These
last skiffs were full of ladies and gentlemen headed
over to see the murder scene. Sometimes they’d pull
ashore to rest before starting across the river.
Through their conversation I learned all about the
murder. I was really sorry to hear you’d been killed,
Huck, but I’m not anymore.
“I lay under the wood shavings all day. I was
hungry, but I wasn’t afraid. I knew the old missus
and the widow were heading to a camp meeting right
after breakfast and would be gone all day. They know
that I take the cattle out at around sunrise, so they
wouldn’t expect to see me around. They wouldn’t
miss me until nightfall. The other servants wouldn’t
miss me because they take the day off whenever the
widow and missus leave.
“Well, when it come dark I tuck out up de river
road, en went ’bout two mile er more to whah dey
warn’t no houses. I’d made up my mine ’bout what
I’s agwyne to do. You see, ef I kep’ on tryin’ to git
away afoot, de dogs ’ud track me; ef I stole a skift
to cross over, dey’d miss dat skift, you see, en
dey’d know ’bout whah I’d lan’ on de yuther side,
en whah to pick up my track. So I says, a raff is
what I’s arter; it doan’ MAKE no track.
“Well, when it got dark, I snuck up the river road
and went about two miles or more to where there
weren’t any houses. I’d made up my mind about what
I was going to do. You see, if I kept trying to run
away on foot, the dogs would track me down. But if I
stole a skiff to cross the river, they’d miss the skiff
and would know I’d landed on the other side. Then
they would be able to pick up my tracks. So, I said to
myself, I need a raft because it won’t leave ANY
tracks.
“I see a light a-comin’ roun’ de p’int bymeby,
“Pretty soon I saw light coming around the point,
so I wade’ in en shove’ a log ahead o’ me en swum so I waded out into the river and shoved a log ahead
more’n half way acrost de river, en got in ’mongst of me to help me swim. I swam more than halfway
de drift-wood, en kep’ my head down low, en
across the river, so I could mix in with the driftwood.
kinder swum agin de current tell de raff come
I kept my head down low and swam against the
along. Den I swum to de stern uv it en tuck a-holt. current until a raft came along. I swam to the back of
It clouded up en ’uz pooty dark for a little while.
it and grabbed hold. It got really dark and cloudy for
So I clumb up en laid down on de planks. De men awhile, but I climbed on board and laid down on the
’uz all ’way yonder in de middle, whah de lantern
planks. There were men on board, but they were over
wuz. De river wuz a-risin’, en dey wuz a good
by the lantern in the middle of the raft. The river was
current; so I reck’n’d ’at by fo’ in de mawnin’ I’d
rising and there was a good current, so I figured I’d
be twenty-five mile down de river, en den I’d slip
be about twenty-five miles down the river by about
in jis b’fo’ daylight en swim asho’, en take to de
four in the morning. Then I’d slip back into the water
woods on de Illinois side.
just before daylight and swim ashore to hide in the
woods on the Illinois side of the river.”
“But I didn’ have no luck. When we ’uz mos’
“But I didn’t have any luck. When we were almost
down to de head er de islan’ a man begin to come
at the head of the island, a man with a lantern began
aft wid de lantern, I see it warn’t no use fer to wait, to walk toward the back of the raft. I saw that it
so I slid overboard en struck out fer de islan’.
wasn’t any use to wait, so I slid overboard and started
Well, I had a notion I could lan’ mos’ anywhers,
swimming toward the island. I thought I could land
but I couldn’t—bank too bluff. I ’uz mos’ to de
anywhere, but it turned out the bank was too steep. I
foot er de islan’ b’fo’ I found’ a good place. I went was almost to the foot of the island before I found a
into de woods en jedged I wouldn’ fool wid raffs
good place. I went into the wood and decided not to
no mo’, long as dey move de lantern roun’ so. I
bother with rafts any more because of the men with
had my pipe en a plug er dog-leg, en some matches lanterns. I had my pipe and some tobacco and
in my cap, en dey warn’t wet, so I ’uz all right.”
matches in my cap. They weren’t wet, so I was
okay.”
“And so you ain’t had no meat nor bread to eat
“So all this time you haven’t had any meat or
all this time? Why didn’t you get mud-turkles?”
bread to eat? Why didn’t you get some mud turtles?”
“How you gwyne to git ’m? You can’t slip up
“How was I supposed to get them? You can’t
on um en grab um; en how’s a body gwyne to hit
sneak up on them and grab them. And what was I
um wid a rock? How could a body do it in de
going to hit them with? A rock? How could anyone
night? En I warn’t gwyne to show mysef on de
do that at night? I wasn’t about to show myself on the
bank in de daytime.”
bank in the daytime.”
“Well, that’s so. You’ve had to keep in the
“Well, that’s true. You’ve had to stay in the woods
woods all the time, of course. Did you hear ’em
this whole time, of course. Did you hear them
shooting the cannon?”
“Oh, yes. I knowed dey was arter you. I see um
go by heah—watched um thoo de bushes.”
shooting the cannon?”
“Oh yes. I knew they were looking for you. I saw
them go by here—I watched them through the
bushes.”
Some young birds come along, flying a yard or
Some young birds came along and flew in stints
two at a time and lighting. Jim said it was a sign it about a yard or two before landing on branches. Jim
was going to rain. He said it was a sign when
said this was a sign that it was going to rain. He said
young chickens flew that way, and so he reckoned it was a sign when young chickens flew that way, and
it was the same way when young birds done it. I
he figured it was the same was true for young birds. I
was going to catch some of them, but Jim wouldn’t was going to catch some of them, but Jim wouldn’t
let me. He said it was death. He said his father laid let me. He said it would only bring death. He said his
mighty sick once, and some of them catched a
father had been really sick once. After some people
bird, and his old granny said his father would die,
caught a few birds, Jim’s granny said his father
and he did.
would die and he did.
And Jim said you mustn’t count the things you
Jim also said if was bad luck to count the things
are going to cook for dinner, because that would
that you are going to cook for dinner. The same thing
bring bad luck. The same if you shook the tablewould happen if you shook out the tablecloth after
cloth after sundown. And he said if a man owned a sundown. And he said that if a man who owned a
beehive and that man died, the bees must be told
beehive died, the bees had to be told about it before
about it before sun-up next morning, or else the
sun up the next morning. Otherwise the bees would
bees would all weaken down and quit work and
be so weak that they would quit work and die. Jim
die. Jim said bees wouldn’t sting idiots; but I
said bees wouldn’t sting idiots, but I didn’t believe
didn’t believe that, because I had tried them lots of that because I’d played around with bees lots of times
times myself, and they wouldn’t sting me.
and they never stung me.
I had heard about some of these things before,
I’d heard some of these superstitions before, but
but not all of them. Jim knowed all kinds of signs. not all of them. Jim knew about all kinds of signs. He
He said he knowed most everything. I said it
said he knew almost all of them. I said it seemed to
looked to me like all the signs was about bad luck, me that all the signs were about bad luck, so I asked
and so I asked him if there warn’t any good-luck
him if there were any good luck signs. He said:
signs. He says:
“Mighty few—an’ DEY ain’t no use to a body.
“Only a few—but they aren’t much use to anyone.
What you want to know when good luck’s aWhy would you want to know when good luck’s
comin’ for? Want to keep it off?” And he said: “Ef coming? So you can keep it away?” Then he said: “If
you’s got hairy arms en a hairy breas’, it’s a sign
you’ve got hairy arms and a hairy chest, it’s a sign
dat you’s agwyne to be rich. Well, dey’s some use that you’re going to be rich. Well, there is some use
in a sign like dat, ’kase it’s so fur ahead. You see,
in a sign like that because it gives you a glimpse into
maybe you’s got to be po’ a long time fust, en so
the distant future. Then you’d know that you were
you might git discourage’ en kill yo’sef ’f you
going to be rich even if you had to be poor for a
didn’ know by de sign dat you gwyne to be rich
while at first. It might keep you from getting
bymeby.”
discouraged and killing yourself.”
“Have you got hairy arms and a hairy breast,
“Do you have hairy arms and a hairy chest, Jim?”
Jim?”
“What’s de use to ax dat question? Don’t you
“Why ask that question? Can’t you see that I do?”
see I has?”
“Well, are you rich?”
“Well, are you rich?”
“No, but I ben rich wunst, and gwyne to be rich
“No, but I was rich once, and I’m going to be rich
agin. Wunst I had foteen dollars, but I tuck to
specalat’n’, en got busted out.”
“What did you speculate in, Jim?”
“Well, fust I tackled stock.”
“What kind of stock?”
“Why, live stock—cattle, you know. I put ten
dollars in a cow. But I ain’ gwyne to resk no mo’
money in stock. De cow up ’n’ died on my han’s.”
“So you lost the ten dollars.”
“No, I didn’t lose it all. I on’y los’ ’bout nine of
it. I sole de hide en taller for a dollar en ten cents.”
“You had five dollars and ten cents left. Did
you speculate any more?”
“Yes. You know that one-laigged nigger dat
b’longs to old Misto Bradish? Well, he sot up a
bank, en say anybody dat put in a dollar would git
fo’ dollars mo’ at de en’ er de year. Well, all de
niggers went in, but dey didn’t have much. I wuz
de on’y one dat had much. So I stuck out for mo’
dan fo’ dollars, en I said ’f I didn’ git it I’d start a
bank mysef. Well, o’ course dat nigger want’ to
keep me out er de business, bekase he says dey
warn’t business ’nough for two banks, so he say I
could put in my five dollars en he pay me thirtyfive at de en’ er de year.
again. Once I had fourteen dollars. But I lost it all on
bad investments.”
“What did you invest in, Jim?”
“Well, first I bought some stock.”
“What kind of stock?”
“Livestock—cattle. I invested ten dollars in a cow.
But I’m not going to risk any more money in stock.
The cow up and died before it went to market.”
“So you lost the ten dollars?”
“No, I didn’t lose it all. I only lost about nine of it.
I sold the hide and tail for a dollar and ten cents.”
“So you have five dollars and ten cents left. Did
you invest any more after that?”
“Yes. You know that one-legged n----- that
belongs to old Mister Bradish? Well, he set up his
own bank and said anyone that invested a dollar
would get back four dollars more at the end of the
year. Well, all the n------ put their money in the bank,
even though they didn’t have much. I was the only
one that had a lot. So I held out for a better interest
rate than four dollars and said I’d start my own bank
if he didn’t give me more. Of course, that n----wanted to keep me out of business because he said
there wasn’t enough business for two banks. He said
if I put in my five he’d pay me thirty-five dollars at
the end of the year.
“So I done it. Den I reck’n’d I’d inves’ de
“So I did. Then I figured I’d invest the thirty-five
thirty-five dollars right off en keep things adollars initially to keep things moving. There was a
movin’. Dey wuz a nigger name’ Bob, dat had
n----- named Bob that had caught a wooden flat in the
ketched a wood-flat, en his marster didn’ know it; river without his master’s knowledge. I bought it off
en I bought it off’n him en told him to take de
him and told him I’d give him thirty-five dollars at
thirty-five dollars when de en’ er de year come;
the end of the year. But someone stole the flat that
but somebody stole de wood-flat dat night, en nex night, and the next day the one-legged n----- said the
day de one-laigged nigger say de bank’s busted. So bank had gone bust. So none of us got our money
dey didn’ none uv us git no money.”
back.”
“What did you do with the ten cents, Jim?”
“So what did you do with the remaining ten cents,
Jim?”
“Well, I ’uz gwyne to spen’ it, but I had a
“Well, I was going to spend it, but I had a dream
dream, en de dream tole me to give it to a nigger
that told me to give it to a n----- named Balum. His
name’ Balum—Balum’s Ass dey call him for
nickname was Balum’s Ass, because he’s a
short; he’s one er dem chuckleheads, you know.
chucklehead, you know. But they say he’s lucky, and
But he’s lucky, dey say, en I see I warn’t lucky. De I knew I certainly wasn’t lucky. The dream said to let
dream say let Balum inves’ de ten cents en he’d
Balum invest the ten cents for me so that I could
make a raise for me. Well, Balum he tuck de
make a profit. Well, Balum had heard a preacher in
money, en when he wuz in church he hear de
church who said that whoever gave money to the
preacher say dat whoever give to de po’ len’ to de poor was lending to the Lord and was bound to get
Lord, en boun’ to git his money back a hund’d
times. So Balum he tuck en give de ten cents to de
po’, en laid low to see what wuz gwyne to come of
it.”
“Well, what did come of it, Jim?”
“Nuffn never come of it. I couldn’ manage to
k’leck dat money no way; en Balum he couldn’. I
ain’ gwyne to len’ no mo’ money ’dout I see de
security. Boun’ to git yo’ money back a hund’d
times, de preacher says! Ef I could git de ten
CENTS back, I’d call it squah, en be glad er de
chanst.”
“Well, it’s all right anyway, Jim, long as you’re
going to be rich again some time or other.”
“Yes; en I’s rich now, come to look at it. I owns
mysef, en I’s wuth eight hund’d dollars. I wisht I
had de money, I wouldn’ want no mo’.”
Chapter 9
page 49
“Jim, this is nice,” I says. “I wouldn’t want to
be nowhere else but here. Pass me along another
hunk of fish and some hot corn-bread.”
“Well, you wouldn’t a ben here ’f it hadn’t a
ben for Jim. You’d a ben down dah in de woods
widout any dinner, en gittn’ mos’ drownded, too;
dat you would, honey. Chickens knows when it’s
gwyne to rain, en so do de birds, chile.”
page 50
“Hello, you!”
But it didn’t budge. So I hollered again, and
then Jim says:
“De man ain’t asleep—he’s dead. You hold
still—I’ll go en see.”
He went, and bent down and looked, and says:
“It’s a dead man. Yes, indeedy; naked, too.
He’s ben shot in de back. I reck’n he’s ben dead
two er three days. Come in, Huck, but doan’ look
at his face—it’s too gashly.”
his money back a hundred times over. So he donated
the ten cents and then waited to see what would
happen.”
“And what happened, Jim?”
“Nothing. I couldn’t manage to collect that
money, and neither could Balum. I’m never going to
lend money unless I’m sure it’s safe. Bound to get
your money back a hundred times, the preacher said!
If I could get ten CENTS back, I’d call us even and
would be glad of it.”
“Well, it’s okay anyway, Jim, as long as you’re
going to be rich again at some point.”
“Yes. And I’m rich now when I think about it. I
own myself, and I’m worth eight hundred dollars. I
wish I had the money. Then I wouldn’t ever want
anything else.”
“Jim, this is nice,” I said. “I don’t want to be
anywhere else but here. Pass me another hunk of fish
and some hot cornbread.”
“Well, you wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been for
Jim. You’d have been down in the woods without
any dinner and getting soaked, too. Yep, you sure
would, man. Chickens know when it’s going to rain
and so do the birds, kid.”
“Hello there!”
But it didn’t budge. So I yelled again, and then
Jim said:
“That man isn’t asleep—he’s dead. You hold the
canoe still, and I’ll go and see.”
He went over to the man, bend down and looked,
and said:
“It’s a dead man. Yes, indeed. He’s naked too.
He’s been shot in the back. I reckon he’s been dead
two or three days. Come on in, Huck, but don’t look
at his face—it’s too ghastly.”
Chapter 10
“Now you think it’s bad luck; but what did you
say when I fetched in the snake-skin that I found
on the top of the ridge day before yesterday? You
said it was the worst bad luck in the world to touch
a snake-skin with my hands. Well, here’s your bad
luck! We’ve raked in all this truck and eight
dollars besides. I wish we could have some bad
luck like this every day, Jim.”
“Never you mind, honey, never you mind.
Don’t you git too peart. It’s a-comin’. Mind I tell
you, it’s a-comin’.”
“Now you think it’s bad luck. But what did you
say when I brought in the snakeskin that I found on
the top of the ridge the day before yesterday? You
said it was the worst luck in the world to touch a
snakeskin with my hands. Well, here’s your bad luck!
We’ve raked in all this loot and an extra eight dollars
to go with it. I wish we could have had some bad luck
like this every day, Jim.”
“Nevermind, honey, nevermind. Don’t get all
worked up. The bad luck is coming, mind you. It’s
coming.”
Chapter 12
“Let’s land on her, Jim.”
But Jim was dead against it at first. He says:
“I doan’ want to go fool’n ’long er no wrack.
We’s doin’ blame’ well, en we better let blame’
well alone, as de good book says. Like as not dey’s
a watchman on dat wrack.”
“Watchman your grandmother,” I says; “there
ain’t nothing to watch but the texas and the pilothouse; and do you reckon anybody’s going to resk
his life for a texas and a pilot-house such a night as
this, when it’s likely to break up and wash off
down the river any minute?” Jim couldn’t say
nothing to that, so he didn’t try. “And besides,” I
says, “we might borrow something worth having
out of the captain’s stateroom. Seegars, I bet
you—and cost five cents apiece, solid cash.
Steamboat captains is always rich, and get sixty
dollars a month, and THEY don’t care a cent what
a thing costs, you know, long as they want it. Stick
a candle in your pocket; I can’t rest, Jim, till we
give her a rummaging. Do you reckon Tom
Sawyer would ever go by this thing? Not for pie,
he wouldn’t. He’d call it an adventure—that’s
what he’d call it; and he’d land on that wreck if it
was his last act. And wouldn’t he throw style into
it?—wouldn’t he spread himself, nor nothing?
Why, you’d think it was Christopher C’lumbus
discovering Kingdom-Come. I wish Tom Sawyer
WAS here.”
“Let’s land on it, Jim.”
Jim didn’t want to at first. He said,
“I don’t want to go fooling around on that wreck.
We’re doing fine without it, and we’d better let it
alone, like the Bible says. More likely than not there
are guards protecting that wreck.”
“Guards, my butt,” I said. “There’s nothing for
guards to watch for but the cabins and the pilothouse.
Do you think anyone would risk his neck to protect a
cabin and a pilothouse on a night like this, when the
whole boat is about to break up and float down the
river any minute?” Jim didn’t have a response, so he
said nothing. “Besides,” I said. “We might find
something in the captain’s quarters that’s worth
borrowing. I bet we find cigars worth five dollars in
cash each. All steamboat captains are rich. They get
paid sixty dollars a month, and they don’t care what
anything costs. They just buy whatever they want.
Here, put a candle in your pocket, Jim. I’m not going
to be able to sleep until we rummage around. Do you
think Tom Sawyer would ever pass up an opportunity
like this? Not for anything, he wouldn’t. He’d call it
an adventure. He’d board that wreck if he knew it’d
be the last thing he did before he died. He’d do it in
style, too. Why, you’d swear he was Christopher
Columbus discovering the New World. Man, I wish
Tom Sawyer WERE here.”
“Oh, please don’t, boys; I swear I won’t ever
tell!”
Another voice said, pretty loud:
“It’s a lie, Jim Turner. You’ve acted this way
before. You always want more’n your share of the
truck, and you’ve always got it, too, because
you’ve swore ’t if you didn’t you’d tell. But this
time you’ve said it jest one time too many. You’re
the meanest, treacherousest hound in this country.”
By this time Jim was gone for the raft. I was
just a-biling with curiosity; and I says to myself,
Tom Sawyer wouldn’t back out now, and so I
won’t either; I’m a-going to see what’s going on
here. So I dropped on my hands and knees in the
little passage, and crept aft in the dark till there
warn’t but one stateroom betwixt me and the crosshall of the texas. Then in there I see a man
stretched on the floor and tied hand and foot, and
two men standing over him, and one of them had a
dim lantern in his hand, and the other one had a
pistol. This one kept pointing the pistol at the
man’s head on the floor, and saying:
“I’d LIKE to! And I orter, too—a mean skunk!”
“Oh please don’t, guys. I swear I won’t ever tell!”
Another voice then said pretty loudly:
“You’re lying, Jim Turner. You’ve acted like this
before. You always want more than your share of the
loot, and you always get it, because you’ve sworn
you’d tell if you didn’t get it. Well, you’ve joked
around one too many times. You’re the most awful,
most treacherous rascal around.”
By this time Jim had gone to the raft. My
curiousity was killing me, though. I told myself that
Tom Sawyer wouldn’t back out now, so I decided
that I wouldn’t either. I was going to see what was
going on down there. I dropped to my hands and
knees inside the little passageway and crept in the
dark toward the back of the ship. I got to where there
was only one stateroom between me and the cabin
hallway. I peeked in and saw a man stretched out on
the floor with his hands and feet bound. There were
two men standing over him, one of them holding a
dim lantern. The other man had a pistol, and he kept
pointing it at the head of the man on the floor, saying:
“I’d LIKE to shoot you! And I ought to, you
damned skunk!”
The man on the floor would shrivel up and say,
The man on the floor would curl up and say things
“Oh, please don’t, Bill; I hain’t ever goin’ to tell.” like, “Oh, please don’t, Bill! I’m not ever going to
tell!”
And every time he said that the man with the
And every time he said that the man with the
lantern would laugh and say:
lantern would laugh and say:
“’Deed you AIN’T! You never said no truer
“Indeed you won’t! You’ve never said a truer
thing ’n that, you bet you.” And once he said:
word than that!” Once he said: “Listen to him beg!
“Hear him beg! and yit if we hadn’t got the best of But if we hadn’t beaten him and tied him up, he
him and tied him he’d a killed us both. And what
would’ve killed us both. And what FOR? Because he
FOR? Jist for noth’n. Jist because we stood on our could. Just because we stood up for our RIGHTS,
RIGHTS—that’s what for. But I lay you ain’t athat’s why. But I swear you aren’t going to threaten
goin’ to threaten nobody any more, Jim Turner.
anybody ever again, Jim Turner. Put that pistol away,
Put UP that pistol, Bill.”
Bill.”
Bill says:
Bill said:
“I don’t want to, Jake Packard. I’m for killin’
“I don’t want to put it away, Jake Packard. I want
him—and didn’t he kill old Hatfield jist the same
to kill him. Didn’t he kill old Hatfield the same way?
way—and don’t he deserve it?”
Doesn’t he deserve to die?”
“But I don’t WANT him killed, and I’ve got my
“But I’ve got my reasons for not wanting him
reasons for it.”
killed.”
“Bless yo’ heart for them words, Jake Packard!
“Bless you, Jake Packard! I’ll never forget you as
I’ll never forgit you long’s I live!” says the man on long as I live,” blubbered the man on the floor.
the floor, sort of blubbering.
Packard didn’t take no notice of that, but hung
up his lantern on a nail and started towards where I
was there in the dark, and motioned Bill to come. I
crawfished as fast as I could about two yards, but
the boat slanted so that I couldn’t make very good
time; so to keep from getting run over and catched
I crawled into a stateroom on the upper side. The
man came a-pawing along in the dark, and when
Packard got to my stateroom, he says:
“Here—come in here.”
And in he come, and Bill after him. But before
they got in I was up in the upper berth, cornered,
and sorry I come. Then they stood there, with their
hands on the ledge of the berth, and talked. I
couldn’t see them, but I could tell where they was
by the whisky they’d been having. I was glad I
didn’t drink whisky; but it wouldn’t made much
difference anyway, because most of the time they
couldn’t a treed me because I didn’t breathe. I was
too scared. And, besides, a body COULDN’T
breathe and hear such talk. They talked low and
earnest. Bill wanted to kill Turner. He says:
“He’s said he’ll tell, and he will. If we was to
give both our shares to him NOW it wouldn’t
make no difference after the row and the way
we’ve served him. Shore’s you’re born, he’ll turn
State’s evidence; now you hear ME. I’m for
putting him out of his troubles.”
“So’m I,” says Packard, very quiet.
“Blame it, I’d sorter begun to think you wasn’t.
Well, then, that’s all right. Le’s go and do it.”
“Hold on a minute; I hain’t had my say yit. You
listen to me. Shooting’s good, but there’s quieter
ways if the thing’s GOT to be done. But what I say
is this: it ain’t good sense to go court’n around
after a halter if you can git at what you’re up to in
some way that’s jist as good and at the same time
don’t bring you into no resks. Ain’t that so?”
“You bet it is. But how you goin’ to manage it
this time?”
“Well, my idea is this: we’ll rustle around and
gather up whatever pickins we’ve overlooked in
the staterooms, and shove for shore and hide the
truck. Then we’ll wait. Now I say it ain’t a-goin’ to
be more’n two hours befo’ this wrack breaks up
and washes off down the river. See? He’ll be
Packard didn’t notice him, but hung his lantern on
a nail. He started walking toward where I was hiding
and motioned for Bill to follow. I crawled as fast as I
could for about two yards. It took me longer than it
normally would since the boat was slanted to one
side. I crawled up the slant and into a stateroom to
avoid getting stepped on and caught. The other man
came walking up in the dark, and when Packard got
to the stateroom, he said:
“Hey—come in here.”
He and Bill came inside, but I had crawled in the
upper birth before they arrived. I was cornered and
regretted my decision to stay on the boat. They stood
there talking, their hands on the ledge of the berth. I
couldn’t see them, but I could tell where they were by
the whisky on their breath. I was glad I hadn’t drunk
any whiskey myself, but it wouldn’t have made much
of a difference since I was holding my breath. I was
so scared. But even if I wasn’t scared, I wouldn’t be
able to hear them talking if I breathed. They talked in
low but earnest voices. Bill wanted to kill Turner. He
said:
“He said he’ll tell, and he will. Even if we gave
both our shares to him now, it wouldn’t make any
difference, now that we’ve fought him and tied him
up. I’m sure he’ll turn state’s evidence and testify
against us. Now you listen. I say we put him out of
his misery.”
“I agree,” said Packard quietly.
“Damn it, I was beginning to think you weren’t.
Well then, that’s that. Let’s go and do it.”
“Hold on a minute—I haven’t said everything I
want to say yet. Listen to me. Shooting a man is fine,
but there are quieter ways to kill him. I don’t think it
makes any sense to invite trouble if you can do the
same thing with less risk. Am I right?”
“You bet. But how are you thinking of killing
him?”
“Well, we can rummage around the boat and
gather up anything else in the staterooms that we
overlooked. Then we can head to shore and hide our
loot. Then we’ll wait. I don’t think it’s going to be
more than two hours before this wreck breaks up and
washes down river. See what I mean? He’ll drown,
drownded, and won’t have nobody to blame for it
but his own self. I reckon that’s a considerble sight
better ’n killin’ of him. I’m unfavorable to killin’ a
man as long as you can git aroun’ it; it ain’t good
sense, it ain’t good morals. Ain’t I right?”
“Yes, I reck’n you are. But s’pose she DON’T
break up and wash off?”
“Well, we can wait the two hours anyway and
see, can’t we?”
“All right, then; come along.”
So they started, and I lit out, all in a cold sweat,
and scrambled forward. It was dark as pitch there;
but I said, in a kind of a coarse whisper, “Jim!”
and he answered up, right at my elbow, with a sort
of a moan, and I says:
“Quick, Jim, it ain’t no time for fooling around
and moaning; there’s a gang of murderers in
yonder, and if we don’t hunt up their boat and set
her drifting down the river so these fellows can’t
get away from the wreck there’s one of ’em going
to be in a bad fix. But if we find their boat we can
put ALL of ’em in a bad fix—for the sheriff ’ll get
’em. Quick—hurry! I’ll hunt the labboard side,
you hunt the stabboard. You start at the raft, and—
”
“Oh, my lordy, lordy! RAF’? Dey ain’ no raf’
no mo’; she done broke loose en gone I—en here
we is!”
and everyone will blame him for his own death. I
think that’s much better than killing him. I’m against
killing anyone if you can get around it. It’s not good
sense. It’s not good morals. Am I right?”
“Yes, I suppose you are. But what if the boat
doesn’t break up and wash away?”
“Well, we can wait a couple hours and see, can’t
we?”
“All right then, let’s go.”
They started off, and I hurried out. I was in a cold
sweat as I scrambled forward in the pitch dark. I
whispered, “Jim!” and he answered me with a soart
of moan right at my elbow. I said:
“Quick, Jim. This isn’t a time for fooling around
and moaning. There’s a gang of murderers inside. If
we don’t find their boat and set it loose so these guys
can’t get away, one of them is going to get murdered.
But if we find their boat, then they’ll all be stuck and
the sheriff can arrest them. Quick, hurry! I’ll look for
their boat on the port side, and you hunt on the
starboard side. Get the raft ready, and….”
“Oh lordy, lordy! Raft?! There’s no raft! It’s
broken loose and gone. Now we’re stuck on this
wreck, too!”
Chapter 13
“Heave that blame lantern out o’ sight, Bill!”
He flung a bag of something into the boat, and
then got in himself and set down. It was Packard.
Then Bill HE come out and got in. Packard says,
in a low voice:
“All ready—shove off!”
I couldn’t hardly hang on to the shutters, I was
so weak. But Bill says:
“Hold on—’d you go through him?”
“No. Didn’t you?”
“No. So he’s got his share o’ the cash yet.”
“Well, then, come along; no use to take truck
and leave money.”
“Say, won’t he suspicion what we’re up to?”
“Put that damn lantern out, Bill!”
He flung a bag of something into the boat, and
then climbed in and sat down. It was Packard. Then
Bill came out and climbed aboard. Packard said in a
low voice:
“All right—off we go!”
I was so weak that I could barely hang onto the
shutters. But I heard Bill say:
“Hold on—did you do it?”
“No. Didn’t you?”
“No. So he’s still got his share of the cash?”
“Well, come on then. No use in taking loot and
leaving money behind.”
“Hey, won’t he suspect that we’re up to
“Maybe he won’t. But we got to have it
anyway. Come along.”
something?”
“Maybe, maybe not. But we’ve got to get it—can’t
just leave it here. Come on.”
Chapter 14
“I didn’ know dey was so many un um. I hain’t
hearn ’bout none un um, skasely, but ole King
Sollermun, onless you counts dem kings dat’s in a
pack er k’yards. How much do a king git?”
“Get?” I says; “why, they get a thousand dollars
a month if they want it; they can have just as much
as they want; everything belongs to them.”
“AIN’ dat gay? En what dey got to do, Huck?”
“THEY don’t do nothing! Why, how you talk!
They just set around.”
“No; is dat so?”
“Of course it is. They just set around—except,
maybe, when there’s a war; then they go to the
war. But other times they just lazy around; or go
hawking—just hawking and sp—Sh!—d’ you hear
a noise?”
We skipped out and looked; but it warn’t
nothing but the flutter of a steamboat’s wheel
away down, coming around the point; so we come
back.
“Yes,” says I, “and other times, when things is
dull, they fuss with the parlyment; and if
everybody don’t go just so he whacks their heads
off. But mostly they hang round the harem.”
“I didn’t know there were so many of them. I’ve
hardly heard of any royalty, except old King
Solomon. That is, unless you count the kings that are
in a pack of cards. How much money does a king
make?”
“Make?” I said. “Why, they can make a thousand
dollars a month if they want. They can have all the
money they want since everything belongs to them.”
“Isn’t that something? And what do they have to
do to get that money, Huck?”
“What are you talking about?! THEY don’t do
anything! They just sit around.”
“No way! Really?”
“Of course. They just sit around, except maybe
when there’s a war. Then they go to war. But usually
they just sit around being lazy. Or they go hawking
and sp…. Sh! Did you hear a noise?”
We left our hiding spot and looked around, but the
noise turned out to be the flutter of the paddles on a
distant steamboat that just coming around the point.
So we went back.
“Yes,” I said. “And other times, when things get
slow and boring, they mess around with parliament.
And if the people don’t do exactly what he says, he
just whacks off their heads. But usually they just
hang out in the harem.”
“Roun’ de which?”
“Hang out where?”
“Harem.”
“The harem.”
“What’s de harem?”
“What’s the harem?”
“The place where he keeps his wives. Don’t
“That’s the place where the king keeps his wives.
you know about the harem? Solomon had one; he
Don’t you know about harems? Solomon had one
had about a million wives.”
with about a million wives.”
“Why, yes, dat’s so; I—I’d done forgot it. A
“Yeah, that’s true. I’d completely forgotten about
harem’s a bo’d’n-house, I reck’n. Mos’ likely dey that. A harem is a boarding house, I guess. The
has rackety times in de nussery. En I reck’n de
nursery is probably pretty noisy. And I bet the wives
wives quarrels considable; en dat ’crease de racket. fight all the time, making it even noisier. And still
Yit dey say Sollermun de wises’ man dat ever
they say Solomon was the wisest man that ever lived.
live’. I doan’ take no stock in dat. Bekase why
would a wise man want to live in de mids’ er sich
a blim-blammin’ all de time? No—’deed he
wouldn’t. A wise man ’ud take en buil’ a bilerfactry; en den he could shet DOWN de biler-factry
when he want to res’.”
“Well, but he WAS the wisest man, anyway;
because the widow she told me so, her own self.”
“I doan k’yer what de widder say, he WARN’T
no wise man nuther. He had some er de dadfetchedes’ ways I ever see. Does you know ’bout
dat chile dat he ’uz gwyne to chop in two?”
“Yes, the widow told me all about it.”
“WELL, den! Warn’ dat de beatenes’ notion in
de worl’? You jes’ take en look at it a minute.
Dah’s de stump, dah—dat’s one er de women;
heah’s you—dat’s de yuther one; I’s Sollermun; en
dish yer dollar bill’s de chile. Bofe un you claims
it. What does I do? Does I shin aroun’ mongs’ de
neighbors en fine out which un you de bill DO
b’long to, en han’ it over to de right one, all safe en
soun’, de way dat anybody dat had any gumption
would? No; I take en whack de bill in TWO, en
give half un it to you, en de yuther half to de
yuther woman. Dat’s de way Sollermun was
gwyne to do wid de chile. Now I want to ast you:
what’s de use er dat half a bill?—can’t buy noth’n
wid it. En what use is a half a chile? I wouldn’
give a dern for a million un um.”
“But hang it, Jim, you’ve clean missed the
point—blame it, you’ve missed it a thousand
mile.”
“Who? Me? Go ’long. Doan’ talk to me ’bout
yo’ pints. I reck’n I knows sense when I sees it; en
dey ain’ no sense in sich doin’s as dat. De ’spute
warn’t ’bout a half a chile, de ’spute was ’bout a
whole chile; en de man dat think he kin settle a
’spute ’bout a whole chile wid a half a chile doan’
know enough to come in out’n de rain. Doan’ talk
to me ’bout Sollermun, Huck, I knows him by de
back.”
“But I tell you you don’t get the point.”
“Blame de point! I reck’n I knows what I
knows. En mine you, de REAL pint is down
furder—it’s down deeper. It lays in de way
Sollermun was raised. You take a man dat’s got
I don’t believe it. Why would a wise man want to live
in the midst of all that craziness? No, he probably
wouldn’t. A wise man would build himself a boiler
factory where he could go when he wanted to rest.”
“Well, whatever. He WAS the wisest man, since
that’s what the widow told me so herself.”
“He wasn’t a wise man. I don’t care what the
widow says. He had the strangest ways of doing
things that I’ve ever heard of. You know about that
child that he was going to chop in two?”
“Yes, the widow told me about that.”
“Well there you go! Wasn’t that the craziest thing
in the whole world? Just think about it a minute.
Let’s say that stump over there was one of the
women, and that other one was you. I’m Solomon,
and this dollar bill is the child. Both you and the
other woman say it’s yours. What do I do? Do I ask
all the neighbors to find out which one of you the bill
belongs to and then give it safe and sound to the right
one? That’s what any person with common sense
would do. But, no. Instead, I’d whack the bill in two
and give one half to you and one half to the other
woman. That’s what Solomon was going to do with
the child. Now I ask you: What’s the use of half a
dollar bill? You can’t buy anything with it. And
what’s the use of half a child? I wouldn’t care for a
million of them.”
“But, man, Jim. You missed the whole point—
missed it by a thousand miles.”
“Who? Me? Get outta here. Don’t talk to me about
your points. I imagine I know common sense when I
see it, and there isn’t any sense in that. The women’s
dispute wasn’t about half a child, it was about a
whole child. And any man who thinks he can settle a
dispute about a whole child by giving a woman half a
child wouldn’t be smart enough to know to come
inside when it rains. Don’t talk to man any more
about Solomon, Huck. I know enough already.”
“But I’m telling you you’re not getting the point.”
“Damn the point! I know what I know. Besides,
the real point is even deeper than that. It all goes back
to the way Solomon was raised. For example, take a
man who’s got only one or two children. Is that man
on’y one or two chillen; is dat man gwyne to be
waseful o’ chillen? No, he ain’t; he can’t ’ford it.
HE know how to value ’em. But you take a man
dat’s got ’bout five million chillen runnin’ roun’
de house, en it’s diffunt. HE as soon chop a chile
in two as a cat. Dey’s plenty mo’. A chile er two,
mo’ er less, warn’t no consekens to Sollermun, dad
fatch him!”
I never see such a nigger. If he got a notion in
his head once, there warn’t no getting it out again.
He was the most down on Solomon of any nigger I
ever see. So I went to talking about other kings,
and let Solomon slide. I told about Louis Sixteenth
that got his head cut off in France long time ago;
and about his little boy the dolphin, that would a
been a king, but they took and shut him up in jail,
and some say he died there.
“Po’ little chap.”
“But some says he got out and got away, and
come to America.”
“Dat’s good! But he’ll be pooty lonesome—dey
ain’ no kings here, is dey, Huck?”
“No.”
“Den he cain’t git no situation. What he gwyne
to do?”
“Well, I don’t know. Some of them gets on the
police, and some of them learns people how to talk
French.”
“Why, Huck, doan’ de French people talk de
same way we does?”
“NO, Jim; you couldn’t understand a word they
said—not a single word.”
“Well, now, I be ding-busted! How do dat
come?”
“I don’t know; but it’s so. I got some of their
jabber out of a book. S’pose a man was to come to
you and say Polly-voo-franzy—what would you
think?”
“I wouldn’ think nuff’n; I’d take en bust him
over de head—dat is, if he warn’t white. I
wouldn’t ’low no nigger to call me dat.”
“Shucks, it ain’t calling you anything. It’s only
saying, do you know how to talk French?”
“Well, den, why couldn’t he SAY it?”
“Why, he IS a-saying it. That’s a Frenchman’s
going to be wasteful with kids? No, he isn’t—he
can’t afford to be. He knows the value of a child. But
it’s different with a man who’s got about five million
children running around the house. HE would just as
soon chop a child in two as he would a cat, since he
has plenty of other kids. A child or two aren’t that
important to Solomon, darn it.”
I never saw such a n-----. Once he got an idea in
his head, there was no use trying to get it out. He
disliked Solomon more than any other n----- I ever
knew. So I dropped the topic of Solomon and started
talking about other kings. I told him about Louis
XVI, who got his head chopped off in France a long
time ago. And I talked about his son, the dolphin,
who would have been king if he hadn’t been shut up
in jail. Some say he died there.
“Poor little kid.”
“But others say he escaped and came to America.”
“Well that’s good! But he’ll be pretty lonesome
here. There aren’t any kings here, are there, Huck?”
“No.”
“Then he can’t go back to the way of life he’s
used to. What’s he going to do?”
“Well, I don’t know. Some of them become
policemen and others teach people how to speak
French.”
“What do you mean, Huck? Don’t the French
people talk the same way we do?”
“NO, Jim. You can’t understand a word the
French say. Not a single word.”
“Well I’ll be damned! How did that come to be?”
“I don’t know, but it’s true. I learned some of their
nonsense out of a book. Suppose a man came up to
you and said, Polly voo franzy. What would you
think about that?”
“I wouldn’t think at all. I’d hit him over the
head—if he’s not a white man, that is. I wouldn’t
allow a n----- to call me a name like that.”
“Shucks, Jim. He wouldn’t be calling you a name.
He’d only be saying, ‘Do you speak French?’”
“Well then why wouldn’t he just SAY that?”
“But he IS saying that. That’s the way a
WAY of saying it.”
“Well, it’s a blame ridicklous way, en I doan’
want to hear no mo’ ’bout it. Dey ain’ no sense in
it.”
“Looky here, Jim; does a cat talk like we do?”
“No, a cat don’t.”
“Well, does a cow?”
“No, a cow don’t, nuther.”
“Does a cat talk like a cow, or a cow talk like a
cat?”
“No, dey don’t.”
“It’s natural and right for ’em to talk different
from each other, ain’t it?”
“Course.”
“And ain’t it natural and right for a cat and a
cow to talk different from US?”
“Why, mos’ sholy it is.”
“Well, then, why ain’t it natural and right for a
FRENCHMAN to talk different from us? You
answer me that.”
“Is a cat a man, Huck?”
“No.”
“Well, den, dey ain’t no sense in a cat talkin’
like a man. Is a cow a man?—er is a cow a cat?”
“No, she ain’t either of them.”
“Well, den, she ain’t got no business to talk like
either one er the yuther of ’em. Is a Frenchman a
man?”
“Yes.”
“WELL, den! Dad blame it, why doan’ he
TALK like a man? You answer me DAT!”
I see it warn’t no use wasting words—you can’t
learn a nigger to argue. So I quit.
Frenchman says it.”
“Well, he’s got a pretty ridiculous way of talking
then. And I don’t want to hear any more about it. It
doesn’t make any sense.”
“Look, Jim. Does a cat talk like we do?”
“No, a cat doesn’t.”
“Well, does a cow talk like we do?”
“No, a cow doesn’t either.”
“Does a cat talk like a cow? Does a cow talk like a
cat?”
“No, they don’t.”
“Isn’t it natural and proper that they talk
differently than each other?”
“Of course.”
“And isn’t it natural and proper that a cat and cow
talk differently from humans?”
“Why, of course it is.”
“Well then, why isn’t it natural and proper for a
Frenchman to talk differently than us? Answer me
that.”
“Is a cat a man, Huck?”
“No.”
“Well then, it wouldn’t make any sense for a cat to
talk like a man. Is a cow a man? I mean, is a cow a
cat?”
“No, a cow is neither a man nor a cat.”
“Well then, a cow’s got no business talking like
either one of them. Is a Frenchman a man?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there you go! Darn it, then why doesn’t a
Frenchman TALK like a man? Answer me THAT!”
I saw it was no use wasting words—you can’t
teach a n----- how to argue. So I quit.
Chapter 15
“Hello, Jim, have I been asleep? Why didn’t
you stir me up?”
“Goodness gracious, is dat you, Huck? En you
ain’ dead—you ain’ drownded—you’s back agin?
It’s too good for true, honey, it’s too good for true.
Lemme look at you chile, lemme feel o’ you. No,
you ain’ dead! you’s back agin, ’live en soun’, jis
“Hello, Jim. Have I been asleep? Why didn’t you
wake me up?”
“Goodness gracious! Is that you, Huck? And you
aren’t dead—you didn’t drown. You’re back? It’s too
good to be true, pal, too good to be true. Let me look
at you, child. Let me feel you. No, you aren’t dead!
You’re back, alive and well. You’re just the same old
de same ole Huck—de same ole Huck, thanks to
goodness!”
“What’s the matter with you, Jim? You been adrinking?”
“Drinkin’? Has I ben a-drinkin’? Has I had a
chance to be a-drinkin’?”
“Well, then, what makes you talk so wild?”
“How does I talk wild?”
“HOW? Why, hain’t you been talking about my
coming back, and all that stuff, as if I’d been gone
away?”
“Huck—Huck Finn, you look me in de eye;
look me in de eye. HAIN’T you ben gone away?”
“Gone away? Why, what in the nation do you
mean? I hain’t been gone anywheres. Where would
I go to?”
“Well, looky here, boss, dey’s sumf’n wrong,
dey is. Is I ME, or who IS I? Is I heah, or whah IS
I? Now dat’s what I wants to know.”
“Well, I think you’re here, plain enough, but I
think you’re a tangle-headed old fool, Jim.”
“I is, is I? Well, you answer me dis: Didn’t you
tote out de line in de canoe fer to make fas’ to de
tow-head?”
“No, I didn’t. What tow-head? I hain’t see no
tow-head.”
“You hain’t seen no towhead? Looky here,
didn’t de line pull loose en de raf’ go a-hummin’
down de river, en leave you en de canoe behine in
de fog?”
“What fog?”
“Why, de fog!—de fog dat’s been aroun’ all
night. En didn’t you whoop, en didn’t I whoop, tell
we got mix’ up in de islands en one un us got los’
en t’other one was jis’ as good as los’, ’kase he
didn’ know whah he wuz? En didn’t I bust up agin
a lot er dem islands en have a terrible time en mos’
git drownded? Now ain’ dat so, boss—ain’t it so?
You answer me dat.”
“Well, this is too many for me, Jim. I hain’t
seen no fog, nor no islands, nor no troubles, nor
nothing. I been setting here talking with you all
night till you went to sleep about ten minutes ago,
and I reckon I done the same. You couldn’t a got
Huck—the same old Huck! Thank God!”
“What’s the matter with you, Jim? Have you been
drinking?”
“Drinking? Have I been drinking? Have I had the
chance to drink?”
“Well then, why are you talking so crazy?”
“What do you mean crazy? Do I sound like I’m
crazy?”
“DO YOU? Haven’t you been talking about me
coming back and all? As if I’d been gone?”
“Huck. Huck Finn. You look me in the eye. Look
me in the eye. HAVEN’T you been gone?”
“Gone? Why, what do you mean? I haven’t been
gone at all. Where would I go?”
“Well, look here, boss. There’s something funny
going on, there sure is. Am I ME? Who AM me? Am
I here or not? Now that’s what I want to know.”
“Well, it’s pretty obvious you’re here, but I think
you’re a mixed up old fool, Jim.”
“I am, am I? Well, answer me this: Didn’t you get
out the rope in the canoe so that we could tie
ourselves up to the towhead?”
“No, I didn’t. What towhead? I haven’t seen any
towheads.”
“You haven’t seen any towheads? Look here.
Didn’t the rope pull loose and the raft go sliding
down the river and leave you and the canoe behind in
the fog?”
“What fog?”
“Why, the fog! The fog that’s been around all
night. Didn’t you whoop, and didn’t I whoop until we
got mixed up in the islands? And then one of us got
lost and the other one was as good as lost since he
didn’t know where he was? And didn’t I almost
drown getting the raft through those islands? Now
isn’t that what happened, boss? Isn’t it? Answer me.”
“This is too much for me, Jim. I haven’t seen any
fog, or any islands, or trouble, or anything. I was
sitting here talking with you all night until you went
to sleep about ten minutes ago. Then I suppose I did
the same. You couldn’t have gotten drunk in that
drunk in that time, so of course you’ve been
time, so you must have been dreaming.”
dreaming.”
“Dad fetch it, how is I gwyne to dream all dat in
“Come on, how could I dream all that in ten
ten minutes?”
minutes?”
“Well, hang it all, you did dream it, because
“Well, darn it, you did dream it because none of it
there didn’t any of it happen.”
happened.”
“But, Huck, it’s all jis’ as plain to me as—”
“But Huck, it all seemed so real to me, just as
plain as….”
“It don’t make no difference how plain it is;
“It doesn’t matter how plain it seemed. Your story
there ain’t nothing in it. I know, because I’ve been isn’t. I know because I’ve been here the whole time.”
here all the time.”
Jim didn’t say nothing for about five minutes,
Jim didn’t say anything for about five minutes. He
but set there studying over it. Then he says:
just sat there thinking it over. Then he said:
“Well, den, I reck’n I did dream it, Huck; but
“Well, then, I guess I did dream it, Huck. But I’ll
dog my cats ef it ain’t de powerfullest dream I ever be damned if that wasn’t the most intense dream I’ve
see. En I hain’t ever had no dream b’fo’ dat’s tired ever had. And I’ve never had a dream before that’s
me like dis one.”
made me as tired as this one did.”
“Oh, well, that’s all right, because a dream does
“Oh, well that’s alright because dreams can really
tire a body like everything sometimes. But this one wear you out sometimes. This one seems to have
was a staving dream; tell me all about it, Jim.”
been a doozy, though. Tell me all about it, Jim.”
So Jim went to work and told me the whole
So Jim started to tell me the whole story from
thing right through, just as it happened, only he
beginning to end. He told it just the way it had
painted it up considerable. Then he said he must
happened, though he exaggerated quite a bit. Then he
start in and “’terpret” it, because it was sent for a
said he needed to interpret the dream, because it was
warning. He said the first towhead stood for a man meant to be some kind of warning. He said that the
that would try to do us some good, but the current first towhead represented a man that would try to
was another man that would get us away from him. help us, but the current was another man that would
The whoops was warnings that would come to us
take us away from the first man. The whoops were
every now and then, and if we didn’t try hard to
warnings that would come to us every now and then.
make out to understand them they’d just take us
If we didn’t try hard to figure out what they meant,
into bad luck, ’stead of keeping us out of it. The lot we would end up having bad luck instead of good
of towheads was troubles we was going to get into luck. The area with a lot of towheads represented
with quarrelsome people and all kinds of mean
trouble we were going to get into with some bad
folks, but if we minded our business and didn’t
people. But if we minded our own business and
talk back and aggravate them, we would pull
didn’t talk back or do anything to aggravate them,
through and get out of the fog and into the big
then we would pull through the fog. We would make
clear river, which was the free States, and wouldn’t it into the open river, which represented the free
have no more trouble.
states.
It had clouded up pretty dark just after I got on
It had gotten pretty cloudy shortly after I’d gotten
to the raft, but it was clearing up again now.
on the raft, but it was starting to clear up again.
“Oh, well, that’s all interpreted well enough as
“Well, your interpretation is pretty good, Jim,” I
far as it goes, Jim,” I says; “but what does THESE said. “But what do THESE things stand for?”
things stand for?”
It was the leaves and rubbish on the raft and the
I was referring to the smashed oar and the leaves
smashed oar. You could see them first-rate now.
and debris on the raft. You could see them pretty
clearly now.
Jim looked at the trash, and then looked at me,
and back at the trash again. He had got the dream
fixed so strong in his head that he couldn’t seem to
shake it loose and get the facts back into its place
again right away. But when he did get the thing
straightened around he looked at me steady
without ever smiling, and says:
“What do dey stan’ for? I’se gwyne to tell you.
When I got all wore out wid work, en wid de
callin’ for you, en went to sleep, my heart wuz
mos’ broke bekase you wuz los’, en I didn’ k’yer
no’ mo’ what become er me en de raf’. En when I
wake up en fine you back agin, all safe en soun’,
de tears come, en I could a got down on my knees
en kiss yo’ foot, I’s so thankful. En all you wuz
thinkin’ ’bout wuz how you could make a fool uv
ole Jim wid a lie. Dat truck dah is TRASH; en
trash is what people is dat puts dirt on de head er
dey fren’s en makes ’em ashamed.”
Then he got up slow and walked to the
wigwam, and went in there without saying
anything but that. But that was enough. It made me
feel so mean I could almost kissed HIS foot to get
him to take it back.
It was fifteen minutes before I could work
myself up to go and humble myself to a nigger; but
I done it, and I warn’t ever sorry for it afterwards,
neither. I didn’t do him no more mean tricks, and I
wouldn’t done that one if I’d a knowed it would
make him feel that way.
Jim looked at the debris, then at me, then back at
the debris again. He’d gotten the dream fixed so
firmly in his mind that he couldn’t let go of it and
confront the facts. But when he did piece it together
and he realized what had really happened, he looked
at me with a serious expression and said:
“What do they stand for? I’ll tell you. When I’d
worn myself out working so hard to call for you that I
fell asleep, my heart was completely broken because
you were lost. I didn’t care anymore about myself or
the raft. Then I woke up and found you back again all
safe and sound, and I cried. I was so thankful that I
could have gotten down on my knees and kissed your
feet. And all you were thinking about was how you
could make a fool out of old Jim by lying to him.
This stuff here is TRASH. And trash is what people
are who play dirty tricks on their friends and make
them feel ashamed.”
Then he got up slowly and walked to the wigwam.
He went in without saying another word, but what
he’d said had been enough. I felt so awful that I
almost kissed HIS feet to get him to take back what
he’d said.
It took me fifteen minutes to work myself up to
apologize to a n-----. But I did it, and I wasn’t
ashamed of it afterwards. I never played any more
mean tricks on him after that, and I would have never
played that one if I had known it would make him
feel that way.
Chapter 16
“We’s safe, Huck, we’s safe! Jump up and
crack yo’ heels! Dat’s de good ole Cairo at las’, I
jis knows it!”
I says:
“I’ll take the canoe and go and see, Jim. It
mightn’t be, you know.”
He jumped and got the canoe ready, and put his
old coat in the bottom for me to set on, and give
me the paddle; and as I shoved off, he says:
“Pooty soon I’ll be a-shout’n’ for joy, en I’ll
say, it’s all on accounts o’ Huck; I’s a free man, en
I couldn’t ever ben free ef it hadn’ ben for Huck;
“We’re safe, Huck, we’re safe! Jump up and
dance! There’s the good old city of Cairo at last, I
just know it!”
I said:
“I’ll take the canoe and go and see, Jim. It might
not be Cairo, you know.”
He jumped up and got the canoe ready. He put his
old coat in the bottom of it for me to sit on. He gave
me the paddle, and as I shoved off, he said:
“Pretty soon, I’ll be shouting for joy, and I’ll say
it’s all because of Huck. I’m a free man, and I
couldn’t have been free if it hadn’t been for Huck—it
Huck done it. Jim won’t ever forgit you, Huck;
you’s de bes’ fren’ Jim’s ever had; en you’s de
ONLY fren’ ole Jim’s got now.”
I was paddling off, all in a sweat to tell on him;
but when he says this, it seemed to kind of take the
tuck all out of me. I went along slow then, and I
warn’t right down certain whether I was glad I
started or whether I warn’t. When I was fifty yards
off, Jim says:
“Dah you goes, de ole true Huck; de on’y white
genlman dat ever kep’ his promise to ole Jim.”
was all Huck. Jim won’t ever forget you, Huck.
You’re the best friend Jim’s ever had, and you’re the
ONLY friend old Jim’s got now.”
I was paddling off, anxious to tell on him, but
when he said this, it seemed to take the zip out of me.
I went along slowly after that. I was no longer sure
whether or not I was glad that I’d decided go ashore.
When I was fifty yards away from the raft, Jim said:
“There you go, that honest old Huck—the only
white gentleman that ever kept his promise to old
Jim.”
Well, I just felt sick. But I says, I GOT to do
Well, I just felt sick. But I told myself that I HAD
it—I can’t get OUT of it. Right then along comes a to do turn him in—there was no getting out of it.
skiff with two men in it with guns, and they
Right then a skiff came along with two men in it with
stopped and I stopped. One of them says:
guns. They stopped, and I stopped. One of them said:
“What’s that yonder?”
“What’s that over there?”
“A piece of a raft,” I says.
“A piece of a raft,” I said.
“Do you belong on it?”
“Does it belong to you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any men on it?”
“Any men on it?”
“Only one, sir.”
“Only one, sir.”
“Well, there’s five niggers run off to-night up
“Well, five n------ ran off tonight just up the river,
yonder, above the head of the bend. Is your man
above the head of the bend. Is your man white or
white or black?”
black?”
I didn’t answer up prompt. I tried to, but the
I didn’t answer promptly. I tried, but the words
words wouldn’t come. I tried for a second or two
wouldn’t come. I tried for a second or two to brace
to brace up and out with it, but I warn’t man
myself and just say it. But I wasn’t man enough—I
enough—hadn’t the spunk of a rabbit. I see I was
didn’t have the courage of a rabbit. I saw I was losing
weakening; so I just give up trying, and up and
my strength, so I just gave up trying, and said:
says:
“He’s white.”
“He’s white.”
“I reckon we’ll go and see for ourselves.”
“I reckon we’ll go and see for ourselves.”
“I wish you would,” says I, “because it’s pap
“I wish you would,” I said, “because it’s my pap.
that’s there, and maybe you’d help me tow the raft Maybe you could help me tow the raft ashore to that
ashore where the light is. He’s sick—and so is
light over there. He’s sick—and so is my mom and
mam and Mary Ann.”
Mary Ann.”
“Oh, the devil! we’re in a hurry, boy. But I
“The devil with you! We’re in a hurry, boy. But I
s’pose we’ve got to. Come, buckle to your paddle, suppose we’ve got to. Come, start paddling, and let’s
and let’s get along.”
get moving.”
I buckled to my paddle and they laid to their
“I started paddling, and they began rowing with
oars. When we had made a stroke or two, I says:
their oars. When we had made a couple of strokes, I
said:
“Pap’ll be mighty much obleeged to you, I can
“Pap will be grateful to you, I promise. Everybody
tell you. Everybody goes away when I want them
goes away when I ask them to help me get the raft
to help me tow the raft ashore, and I can’t do it by
myself.”
“Well, that’s infernal mean. Odd, too. Say, boy,
what’s the matter with your father?”
“It’s the—a—the—well, it ain’t anything
much.”
They stopped pulling. It warn’t but a mighty
little ways to the raft now. One says:
“Boy, that’s a lie. What IS the matter with your
pap? Answer up square now, and it’ll be the better
for you.”
“I will, sir, I will, honest—but don’t leave us,
please. It’s the—the—Gentlemen, if you’ll only
pull ahead, and let me heave you the headline, you
won’t have to come a-near the raft—please do.”
“Set her back, John, set her back!” says one.
They backed water. “Keep away, boy—keep to
looard. Confound it, I just expect the wind has
blowed it to us. Your pap’s got the small-pox, and
you know it precious well. Why didn’t you come
out and say so? Do you want to spread it all over?”
“Well,” says I, a-blubbering, “I’ve told
everybody before, and they just went away and left
us.”
“Poor devil, there’s something in that. We are
right down sorry for you, but we—well, hang it,
we don’t want the small-pox, you see. Look here,
I’ll tell you what to do. Don’t you try to land by
yourself, or you’ll smash everything to pieces. You
float along down about twenty miles, and you’ll
come to a town on the left-hand side of the river. It
will be long after sun-up then, and when you ask
for help you tell them your folks are all down with
chills and fever. Don’t be a fool again, and let
people guess what is the matter. Now we’re trying
to do you a kindness; so you just put twenty miles
between us, that’s a good boy. It wouldn’t do any
good to land yonder where the light is—it’s only a
wood-yard. Say, I reckon your father’s poor, and
I’m bound to say he’s in pretty hard luck. Here, I’ll
put a twenty-dollar gold piece on this board, and
you get it when it floats by. I feel mighty mean to
leave you; but my kingdom! it won’t do to fool
with small-pox, don’t you see?”
“Hold on, Parker,” says the other man, “here’s a
twenty to put on the board for me. Good-bye, boy;
ashore. I can’t do it by myself.”
“Well, that’s awfully mean. Strange, too. Say,
boy, what’s the matter with your father?”
“It’s the… ah… the uh… well… it’s not much.”
They stopped rowing. They were just a short way
from the raft by now. One said:
“Boy, that’s a lie. What IS the matter with your
pap? Do the right thing and answer me honestly
now.”
“I will, sir, honest I will—but don’t leave us,
please. It’s the… the… Gentlemen, if you’ll just pull
ahead a bit to the raft and let me toss you a rope, you
won’t have to come near the raft. Please just do it.”
“Back, John, row back!” one of them said. They
started rowing backward. “Keep away, boy, keep to
port. Darn it, the wind is blowing that raft right
toward us. Your pap’s got smallpox, and you know
it! Why didn’t you just say so? Do you want to
spread it to everyone?
“Well,” I said, pretending to cry, “Everyone else
I’ve told just went away and left us.”
“Well, you’ve got a point. Poor soul. We feel
pretty sorry for you, but we… well, darn it, we don’t
want to get smallpox, you see. Look here, I tell you
what we’ll do. Don’t try to land the raft on the shore
by yourself; you’ll just smash it to pieces. Just float
along down the river about twenty miles, and you’ll
come to a town. Ask for help, and tell them your
folks have got the chills and a fever. Don’t be foolish
again and let people guess what’s wrong with your
family. Now, we’re trying to help you, so just be a
good boy and take our advice. Put twenty miles
between yourselves and us. It wouldn’t do any good
to land the raft over where that light is. It’s only a
lumber yard. I’ll bet your father’s poor, and I’m sure
your family is having a tough time. Here, I’m putting
a twenty dollar gold piece on this board. Grab it when
it floats by. I feel pretty bad leaving you, but my
God, we just can’t mess around with smallpox, you
see?
“Hang on, Parker,” said the other man. “Here’s a
twenty dollar gold piece to add to yours on the board.
you do as Mr. Parker told you, and you’ll be all
right.”
“That’s so, my boy—good-bye, good-bye. If
you see any runaway niggers you get help and nab
them, and you can make some money by it.”
“Good-bye, sir,” says I; “I won’t let no runaway
niggers get by me if I can help it.”
Goodbye, kid. You do as Mr. Parker instructed, and
you’ll be alright.”
“That’s true, my boy. So long, goodbye. If you see
any runaway n------, you can make some money by
getting help and catching them.”
“Goodbye, sir,” I said. “I won’t let any runaway n----- get by me if I can help it!”
“Jim!”
“Here I is, Huck. Is dey out o’ sight yit? Don’t
talk loud.”
He was in the river under the stern oar, with just
his nose out. I told him they were out of sight, so
he come aboard. He says:
“I was a-listenin’ to all de talk, en I slips into de
river en was gwyne to shove for sho’ if dey come
aboard. Den I was gwyne to swim to de raf’ agin
when dey was gone. But lawsy, how you did fool
’em, Huck! Dat WUZ de smartes’ dodge! I tell
you, chile, I’spec it save’ ole Jim—ole Jim ain’t
going to forgit you for dat, honey.”
“Jim!”
“Here I am, Huck. Are they out of sight yet? Don’t
talk too loudly.”
He was in the river under the oar at the stern, with
just his nose sticking out. I told him they were out of
sight, so he came on board. He said:
“I was listening to you three talking, so I slipped
into the river. I was going to start swimming toward
the shore if they came on board. Then I was going to
swim to the raft again when they had gone. But, man,
you sure fooled them, Huck! That WAS the smartest
decision! I tell you, child, I expect your rouse saved
old Jim. Old Ji
“Maybe we went by Cairo in the fog that
night.”
He says:
“Doan’ le’s talk about it, Huck. Po’ niggers
can’t have no luck. I awluz ’spected dat
rattlesnake-skin warn’t done wid its work.”
“I wish I’d never seen that snake-skin, Jim—I
do wish I’d never laid eyes on it.”
“It ain’t yo’ fault, Huck; you didn’ know. Don’t
you blame yo’self ’bout it.”
“Maybe we went past Cairo in the fog that night.”
He said:
“Let’s not talk about it, Huck. Poor n------ can
catch a break. I always suspected that rattlesnake skin
hadn’t finished giving me my bad luck.”
“I wish I’d never seen that snakeskin, Jim. I realy
wish I’d never lain my eyes on it.”
“It isn’t your faul, Huck. You didn’t know. Don’t
blame yourself.”